


The Play's the Thing...

by theswisswereright



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bullshit Theater AU, F/M, Loveless - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 17:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10392075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswisswereright/pseuds/theswisswereright
Summary: ...in which you catch the conscience of a royal pain.Seriously, if he didn't shut up, you were going to stab him through a rug like Polonius, and you would like it.Genesis Rhapsodos/Reader.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I still can't believe I wrote this. It was torn from my body like an exorcism, I swear, and I am vaguely ashamed.   
> Anyway, have some modern college theater AU, featuring Genesis as a boneheaded washed-up actor/director wannabe, and a reader-insert who is not having his shit.

“People, we have four days until the show and you are the furthest from ready that you could possibly be. I should not have to give you lines! I should not need to remind you when to leave the stage! I should not- where is my coffee?”

“Uh, sir, no one got coffee today…” one of the actors supplied meekly.

“Why not? Isn’t that what we hired that useless girl for? Where is she?” A few murmurs came from the assembled cast, but they basically amounted to a general lack of knowledge.

“You, girl, the one standing behind the fake plant. What’s your name?”

“It’s _____... I’m the understudy for Jaime,” you said softly.

“What?” The director cupped his hand around his ear. 

“My name is _____...” you said, in a voice not much louder than before.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re my new assistant. Go get the coffee.” He waved dismissively, and suddenly you found yourself attacked by the cast like a piece of meat by a bunch of vultures.

“I want a grande vanilla soy cappuccino, no foam.”

“Mocha frappe with extra whip, hold the drizzle.”

“Tall skinny caramel macchiato with extra caramel and two sugars.”

You surmised that you must have been a bad person in a previous life to be punished in this way. Armed with a stray pen and your arm as a notepad, you began to accept money and write down orders frantically.

~*~

The trip to the coffee shop was almost as bad as the rush of orders, if only because the three to-go trays made seeing where you were walking nigh on impossible. Perhaps your bad karma had exhausted itself earlier, though, because you managed to make it back to the theater without spilling anything. You kicked the door open, thankful that it was a push door, and walked through the center aisle to the table where the director normally sat. He was still absent, perhaps having given up entirely, a nasty little voice in your head chimed in. Either way, the people had their coffee and they seemed to be much less interested in killing you now.

You sighed deeply and blew into the lid of your own black cup of coffee. You were about to take your first sip when a loud bang from the office area announced the director’s reentry into the main room. 

“Ah, is that mine? Took you long enough,” you heard close to your ear, and then the coffee was out of your hands and being consumed by the evil son of a bitch in charge of this fiasco.

“Are you fucking serious? If you wanted coffee, you should have given me your order like everyone else!” You immediately clapped a hand over your mouth, but the damage was done. 

“I am not everyone else, dear girl. I am-”

“Genesis Rhapsodos, and the rules don’t apply to me,” chorused everyone present. 

“That’s right,” he nodded, and took another drink of his coffee. Your coffee. “Remember that.” He pointed a gloved finger at you before sitting in his chair and turning his attention back to the actors. “Okay, everyone, let’s take it from scene three.”

~*~

“I’m Genesis Rhapsodos, and the rules don’t apply to me,” you mocked as you walked to your car. The parking lot was mostly empty, everyone else having left as soon as rehearsal concluded. The bastard had made you stay behind and clean up their mess, while he retreated to the office to do what you could only guess were smug, self-important things.

Honestly, who in the hell did he think he was? He had only been in that one important play, and even if it had been the third-longest-running production of all time, six years had passed since then. The tabloids had been rife with gossip about how he’d spent all the money on flashy clothes and a fancy car, and now he was on your college campus, directing the student production of that same show. Yes, he had been important once, but now he was just like everyone else, and apparently no one had ever thought to inform him of that.

Half of the people in that theater were only there because they wanted to meet the washed-up celebrity, and the other half were there because they would show up to any club that promised class credit in the humanities. You, on the other hand, had been theater club vice president for two years, and now, in your senior year, had been deposed by blonde, busty Jaime King. The school rumor mill said that she’d slept her way into the part and the position, which made you dislike Rhapsodos even more. So what if he’d been amazing as Gratian? So what if he’d been the reason you’d gotten into acting? He was a stuck-up, spoiled windbag, and that was that. 

You slammed the door of your beat-up sedan angrily, slapped your seat belt into the buckle, and peeled out of the parking lot in a huff. 

~*~

Why did you even bother coming to rehearsals? You were only the understudy, after all, and there was no way Jaime would miss a single opportunity to simper at Rhapsodos adoringly. You swore that if you heard her say “Oh, but you were so underappreciated in _Professor Hollander’s Opus_ , I think it was one of your best performances!” that you would hang yourself from the rafters with an extension cord. The tech guys were fairly sick of hearing it too, perhaps they’d join you. You could see the headline now: Staff of School Play Annoyed Into Suicide.

“Excuse me, assistant, are you paying any attention at all, or must I repeat myself?” Ah, His Highness had apparently deigned to give you an order while you were busy not listening.

“Nope,” you said in a bored tone. You really didn’t care if he kicked you out, honestly; this would be your last production with the theater club and it had become apparent that your important final role was to get coffee and generally be everyone’s bitch.

“Mr. Davis has apparently deigned not to grace us with his presence. I know you know his lines, don’t even bother lying,” he said with a raised hand. Damn it, he was right and he knew it. Your habit of mouthing the lines along with the actors had betrayed you. “You will stand in for him today.”

“Fine,” you snapped, knowing there was no way out of the situation. Leonard Davis had been given the role of Angelo, the levelheaded peacemaker of the main three friends, and though you knew the part well, you doubted your ability to give a good performance. You were feeling neither levelheaded nor peaceful. You made sure to stomp noisily all the way up to the stage, even though this small act of defiance wasn’t going to get you anywhere. 

“And…begin,” Rhapsodos said softly. You had the first lines in the scene, so you took a deep breath and started. 

“Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess; we seek it thus, and take to the sky. Ripples form on the water’s surface; the wandering soul knows no rest…” Although you had not been at all prepared at first, you gradually lost yourself in the rhythmic familiarity of Angelo’s monologue, finishing it completely before realizing that you were still on stage and that you were only filling in for an absent friend. You also realized that Demetrio Gordon was staring at you like you’d grown a second head, and had completely failed to begin his reply as Seraphinus. In fact, the entire auditorium was quiet, although you didn’t quite understand why.

A slow clap began, somewhere in the room, and slowly the other students joined in. You flushed reflexively, knowing that you had done well, but unused to the attention. Scanning the room, you saw that even Jaime King was applauding grudgingly. The biggest surprise of all, however, came when your eyes landed on the director’s table. Rhapsodos was clapping too… and was that a blush dusted across his cheeks? “Right, people, let’s continue,” he said once the applause had died. “Gordon, your lines, please.”

~*~

Rhapsodos didn’t retreat to the office that night as he had the day before, and all the days before that. There were two days until opening night, and the dress rehearsal was tomorrow; you supposed that he was stressed enough to put up with your presence as you puttered around picking up Starbucks cups. He didn’t talk to you, of course, as he was still too important to bother with anything else but fussing about with his papers, but at least he wasn’t acting as though you had some sort of plague. 

However, today was apparently meant to be full of surprises, because as you bent to collect the last of the litter from the theater floor, you heard a familiar melodious voice. “Why didn’t you try out for Minerva? You’re really quite good,” he inquired, and you felt the anger you’d thought gone rise in your blood again.

“I did.” That was all you could allow yourself to say without blowing up, and there was no way you were going to let him see how much he upset you.

“I don’t recall seeing you.” His tone was still neutral, and you got the impression that he was choosing his words carefully, but so what? It was his fault that you were being featured in your final production as “coffee gofer.”

“Well, I was there. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t as willing to take my clothes off as some other people who were also there,” you said venomously, even as you chastised yourself for revealing any anger. 

“Take your- who on earth are you talking about?” Now he sounded genuinely surprised, and you wondered if what you’d heard from the rumor mill had been false.

“I know that she looks like Minerva’s supposed to look, but maybe you should have paid attention to more than that when you did auditions.” That was all you were going to say, you swore to yourself. No more.

“I paid very careful attention to all the candidates, I assure you.” Ah, there was the aristocratic “better than you” tone that you were so used to.

“Yeah? Well, Rhapsodos, I know that you don’t have to follow the rules, or whatever your ridiculous catchphrase is, but Jaime King doesn’t give a shit about anything more than the two credit hours she’s getting by showing up every day. This club was my life, and that play was my passion, and now I get to sit on the bench while everyone else hits a fucking home run.” Fuck, you’d gotten irate. What was worse, you felt hot tears welling up in your eyes. “It was my dream to be in this play,” you continued in a softer tone. “That’s the whole reason I joined the theater club in my first year. I saw it when I was sixteen, and I wanted to be part of it too. Not that you care,” and here you barked out a harsh laugh, “but I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me? But-” Oh, no. You were not letting him talk. The man had been nothing but a thorn in your side since you met him, and you had had entirely enough of his professions of greatness. 

“Shut up, I really don’t care.” Maybe a few years ago you would have fainted in shock at the thought of telling Genesis Rhapsodos to shut up, but not anymore. Now you knew better. “You have been possibly the greatest disappointment of my life. You can get the fucking coffee yourself tomorrow.” With that, you dropped the bag of trash and began stalking out of the theater.

“Will you just wait a damn-”

“No,” your voice echoed as the main door slammed shut behind you.

Genesis plopped back down into his chair, although he never would have used that verb (Genesis Rhapsodos does not plop), and exhaled. His heart was pounding, his hands were shaking, and he thought he might very well be aroused.

“What in the bloody fuck was that?” he inquired of the empty air, before returning to the much less arousing task of finishing the paperwork.

~*~

Dress rehearsal went uneventfully. You did not get the coffee, and you did not arrive early enough to see who had, but the usual assortment of empty cups had sprouted around the auditorium by the time you did show up.

You had promised yourself the night before that you were not going to hide from Genesis, but you found yourself scuttling about backstage like a frightened crab for most of the play. Assisting with costumes was part of your job, you tried to convince yourself, but it really wasn’t, and you were really doing the precise thing that you’d said you would not do. Going back on your pacts with yourself had become habit as of late. And when the hell did he become “Genesis,” and not “Rhapsodos” or “ungrateful fuckwit?” 

Alas, although you thought that the rehearsal had gone very well, considering, the day was to be a complete failure on your part. Genesis was not in his office once more, and you wondered if he was just determined to be awkward by forcing you to be around him as you cleaned up for the last time. If you didn’t do it, no one would, and a play could not have its opening night in a landfill that happened to have seats and a stage. This time, he wasn’t even shuffling about with his papers. Instead, he seemed to be lying in wait like some kind of particularly patient spider, chin resting on top of interlocked fingers. For a brief, shining moment, you thought that he wasn’t going to talk. Unfortunately, the second that the first cup was in the bag, he opened his mouth. 

“No one speaks to me like that.” You rolled your eyes and said a small prayer for patience before turning around.

“Yes, well, consider me no one, then, it shouldn’t be hard,” you retorted before continuing your task. You couldn’t look at him; you felt his eyes boring into your back. Not that he wasn’t good-looking, of course, but you’d grown out of that little crush as soon as he showed up to the theater club’s first meeting of the semester. Sure, his hair was striking and looked soft, and yeah, his eyes were bright and sparkly, and okay, you had had a giant poster of him on your wall in high school, but that didn’t change the fact that he was a complete and utter asshole. Wait, no, this was not a good train of thought.

“…and I think it was good for me,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that you hadn’t actually heard him. “For the last few years I’ve deluded myself into thinking that I was somehow better than everyone else, just because I’d had my fifteen minutes of fame already. You shocked me, yes, but I needed to hear it. Obviously, I am still much more talented than everyone else,”

“Obviously,” you muttered with another eye roll,

“But I am not perfect, and I should not act as though everyone is beneath me,” he concluded. “I appreciate the reminder, as blunt and laden with profanity as it was.”

“Well, that’s just peachy, Genesis. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some custodial engineering to get back to.”

“No, no, I wasn’t done,” he said. “I know that it is far too late to make amends to you, and that I was completely absentminded in choosing those who would play lead roles in this production. However, I would still like to apologize somehow. Would you be completely opposed to accompanying me to dinner after the show tomorrow?”

Wait, what? He didn’t just- but he had, and the apprehension you saw in his green eyes was all too real. There was only one proper response when your schoolgirl crush turned collegiate pain in the ass asked you on a date. You threw your head back and laughed.

You laughed for so long that Genesis’s face progressed from apprehensive, to mildly concerned, to downright irritated. “Well, there’s no need to make fun of me. A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed,” he mumbled grumpily. 

“I’m sorry, but… Okay, I’m not really sorry. Did you just ask me on a _date_?” You felt another wave of hysterical laughter coming on, and you tried extremely hard to suppress it. 

“I had thought that perhaps we could…work out our differences. You are the only one in this ridiculous little troupe with any talent whatsoever,” he replied haughtily. “However, I know a rejection when I hear one. I shall not bother you again, rest assured,” he said as he gathered up his papers and stood from his chair.

“Wait,” you wheezed out through persistent giggles. “Genesis! Don’t storm out like a teenage girl,” you said in a slightly more even tone. “God, I hate when you act like such a fucking priss.” In a fit of what you would decide later was insanity, you swiftly made your way over to the motionless Genesis, who was staring at you like you’d completely lost your mind. Standing on your toes, you threw your arms around his neck and before he even had time to say, “I was not acting like,” you’d cut him off with your mouth against his.

He got over his surprise quickly, to his credit, and began pushing back against you with his own (plush, you noted, and perfectly smooth) lips. You found yourself lifted up onto the table, knocking a coffee cup to the floor, which was quickly forgotten as his kiss completely distracted you. He was insistent and dominant, nearly consuming you completely with the heat of his fervor. Your teeth closed on his bottom lip, which apparently he liked, because he crushed himself to you even harder and wound his fingers into your loose hair. 

As much as neither of you would have minded, you couldn’t continue making out on the table forever. A loud motorcycle engine from outside made you jump, and in the process, nearly fall off the table. Both you and Genesis were panting, and his tongue darted out to lick his full lower lip.

“What in the hell was that?” you said dazedly, unknowingly echoing his question from the night previous. 

“I believe that was you kissing me,” Genesis said, and you shook off your trance at the return of the smug. “I also assume that was you accepting my invitation for tomorrow night.”

“You know what they say about assumptions, Rhapsodos,” you grumbled, bending to pick up the fallen cup and dispose of it.

“I rather think we’re past last names now, aren’t we? _____?”

“So you do know it.”

“Of course I do,” and he looked affronted that you would ever think otherwise. 

“Whatever. _Genesis_ ,” you added, if only to shut him up about the use of his last name. “Unfortunately for me, it seems that I’ve become used to your ridiculous, conceited self. Someone has to keep you in line, and I guess that falls to me.”

“I guess it does,” he said, and if it was possible for him to get any more smug, that would have been it. “May I drive you home?”

You thought about your car, sitting desolate in the parking lot all night. You thought about your roommate, who would surely freak out after seeing Genesis drop you off. Then you thought about simpering, sycophantic Jaime King, and made a snap decision. “Fuck it,” you announced. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“I didn’t think you’d still have this thing,” you said in awe.

“Yes, well, being briefly famous did come with its privileges,” said Genesis with his nose in the air, before he dropped the act and opened your door. “Are you planning on getting in?”

You slid into the seat dumbly, and moments later, the Ferrari was peeling out of the parking lot, much better than you’d ever managed to do in your own car.

“Uh, Genesis?” you spoke up as he drove far too quickly down the main drag of town.

“Yes?”

“This is not the way back to campus,” you said, more as an afterthought than anything else.

“I am more than aware,” he replied, and the sudden heat of his hand on your knee made it quite obvious that you were not going home tonight; at least, not right away. “The arrow has left the bow of the-”

“No.” You had had enough of _Loveless_ for one lifetime, even though you’d be lucky to get Genesis to stop quoting for five minutes. 

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. It was your favorite play, after all.

THE END


End file.
